


jagged lives / soft hearts

by goldstraw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, F/M, Injury, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 02:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18160454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/pseuds/goldstraw
Summary: a tale of two hearts, in three acts





	jagged lives / soft hearts

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my docs for ages, so I quickly tidied it up and got round to posting it.
> 
> hope you enjoy and do feedback, it's much appreciated.

** A C T   O N E **

"I've got nowhere else to go."  
  
Jaime,  _oh god_ _Jaime_ ,  propped himself unsteadily on her doorway, wet through. He didn't even raise his head to speak. Instead he  cradled his arm closely as if every breath hurt; hunkered down as if he had dragged himself here with his last ounce of energy. 

Seeing him, watching him, the floor underneath Brienne's feet seem to jolt and sway, making her feel desperately sick all of a sudden. She had not expected this; had not contemplated it as a real life occurrance as much as she had wanted his return. It had been months; it felt like lifetimes dragged out inch by dreadful inch. She had given up hope, and now here he was. It was too painful to be so close to him again.   
  
Jaime groaned into the silence. "One night."  
  
"Go to a hotel."   
  
"I can't—" His tired face creased. "Please, Brienne. Please."  
  
He never begged.  _Never._  Her heart was already a traitorous step ahead of her head, lobbying for her to do as he asked for it would at least mean him being close to her again. Her mind wavered in her own distress. He looked  horrifyingly ill. She had a duty to look after those ill.  _Foolish girl, leaping off the wagon so willingly._ _But she was desperate. She would do anything._

She took a step back. "One night. And I see the arm."   
  
He lurched in, heading for the spare room. He was falling asleep as she inspected the stump, tutted at its state, pulled off clothes that hasn't been washed for days and made him take a painkiller. He was docile, quiet. The spark had gone from his eyes, his temper dulled. She barely recognised him; only seeing a flicker of their past as she watched him sleep. The tousled blond hair she used to run her fingers through, the long eyelashes that tickled her skin. His mouth, his laughter lines that were never out of use. She passed a hand over his cheek and then tore herself away.   
  
He slept long into the next morning while she had not slept a wink. She worked from home, cup of tea next to a laptop she occasionally tapped on. But she was distracted, listening out for every sound. As the clock moved towards noon, she took his cleaned and dried clothes and a tea to the bedroom.   
  
"Jaime?"  
  
A slight moan escaped him as she sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Wench—"

Her breath caught so hard she choked. She blinked hard, fighting against the emotions.   
  
"You need to get up."   
  
His gaze was clearer now as he propped himself up, took the tea and gulped it down.  
  
"You can have a shower and something to eat. But then you need to go—"  
  
He didn't move, his gaze needling her with the power it always had. She stood, needing to get away from touching distance, the desire to throttle him, to slap his handsome face, overwhelming, to let him see and feel the anger and the pain she had been subjected to.  
  
"I mean it."  
  
Jaime coughed. Shifted uncomfortably. "I heard you."  
  
"Don't make this more difficult than it already is... do you have any idea—" Her words ended abruptly as the despair kicked in.  
  
"I have some idea."  
  
She huffed a disbelieving laugh at that. "Sure."  
  
"Wench—"   
  
"Don't call me that. You have no right."   
  
"I need to talk to you."  
  
"No," she stated as calmly as she could. "No. I don't want to talk."   
  
He narrowed his eyes. "Tyrion said you asked after me."  
  
She glared back, giving in to the argument. "You disappeared with a two line note. I was out of my mind with worry. When he told me where you were—" She closed her eyes against memory of the knife stab that sent her knees weak, her life into freefall, Tyrion guiding her to a chair and the long suffering shake of his head as he comforted her. "I-I-I should have guessed. I'm surprised you're on speaking terms with him."  
  
"Barely."  
  
She sighed. "You've got an hour."   
  
He walked out the bathroom with his towel hung so low across his hips it was obscene. As she caught sight of him, she blushed. He was thinner, needed a haircut, but yes, he was still half a god. He'd always been entirely too handsome for his own good.   
  
She was sure he'd seen her redden and drop her gaze, furious at herself for giving him an inch of leverage. Their bodies had seemed to attract each other. Athletic. Lithe. It didn't seem to matter that she had more shyness and stature than the average woman. He said she was all he wanted, that she turned him on. Lies. All lies. Or at least, nothing in comparison to—  
  
He reappeared, thankfully dressed and rubbing the water from his hair.   
  
"Five minutes,  Brienne. To explain."  
  
"Nothing to explain. Your actions were clear enough."  
  
His face twisted. "It's more complicated than you make it out to be."  
  
She let out a bitter laugh. "When isn't it?"   
  
"Yeah, that's right. It might all be damned simple for you, you have all your ideas and priorities straight. But you knew I was a mess when we met.” He glanced at his stump. “This fucked me up more.  A mess doesn't cancel another one out.  I'm still a mess.”

Her eyes landed on his, and she could see he was scalded with regret. She took a breath. “I knew…  I forgave you everything. But this, this—“ she spread her hands at the intangible, wordless betrayal. She could feel the tears tighten in her throat. 

He walked round to where she sat, dropping down on his knees so he could look up at her. His fingers rested lightly on her bare arm and made her feel like pinpricks of white hot embers were there instead.

“I thought that if I could... I wanted to go back to how everything was before— What happened to me was a fucking nightmare.  I couldn’t deal with anything, everything. I just wanted to go back to how it was before.”

She froze. Had to spit the words out. “Back to her.”  
  
A beat of hesitation, of careful weighing up of the balances of truth and pain. "Yes. In part, only. But yes."

Finally, a confession. But gods, it hurt to hear it from his own lips. She tortured herself; sadistically wanting it to continue. “Do you love her?” Her voice was small and flat,  and  hid the roaring within. 

Jaime’s grip on her tensed. “No.” His tone was such one of utmost certainty that she couldn’t help but look up. His face was tight with something that looked like fear. “Leaving you was the worst mistake of my life. My biggest regret. Cersei wanted someone else. I wasn’t that Jaime anymore, and I wouldn’t change—didn’t want to, I realised.”

An unexpected frisson on anger surged through her. She shook off his hand. “I understand now. She rejects you and you wash back here? Poor Brienne, she'll take whatever she's given and she’ll be grateful with it?"

Jaime’s mouth opened and closed in distress, and she took the opportunity to stand and seek some distance from him. The clasping hand round her broken heart squeezed harder. “You don’t love me either, do you?” 

“Yes, I do.”

He sounded so genuine, her mind couldn’t cope with the conflict in between his words and his actions and she broke, every piece of the shambles of herself she had stitched back together unpicked, torn away.

"I don't want to care about you, Jaime. I don't want to love you. You broke my heart. After everything we've been through. My trust in you, in everything you said. You broke it."   
  
The last words came out in a wracking sob, and she turned away, trying to curl herself in.   
  
She felt his weight move behind her, his hand brushing her arm, his stump on her waist, turning her back round. Fingers wiped away tears, faces held so close they was mere millimetres away. They spoke in murmurs, vibrations of voices and heart beats and tremors of skin. “I love you. Very much. You don’t have to forgive me. But I wanted to explain, try to, at least—“

“How can I trust you again?”

“Let me try to show you."

His words fell on a deadened heart, and a shutdown mind. It was too late.

“I just— I just can’t.” She pushed him away, a gentle hand on his chest.

 

 

**A C T   T W O**  

Warily they eyed each other across the crowd, both the tallest in the room. They hadn’t seen each other for months and each took a moment to refresh their memories. Jaime looked older. His face had new lines, and faint touches of grey appeared on his temples and in the beard he’d now grown. Brienne too had lost some of her childish youth, but her gaze was still as affecting as ever, and Jaime kept her eye long enough to give a nervous, thin lipped smile which she returned. A minute or two later, he had made his way over to her but stood at a slight distance. Close up, he looked worse. His green gaze was hazy, his posture slumped. She could almost smell the despair that flowed around him, like a chemical fog.  

“Hello,” he said. “I didn’t realise you were coming, I would have—“ he stopped himself. “You look well.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

He scoffed in sarcasm. “Yeah.” He gulped at his drink. “What have you been up to—“

“Just the usual.”

“What’s the usual?” he snapped back.

“Jaime—“

“I can’t ask a question now?”

She bristled slightly. “Don’t do this. We can be civil—“

“Yeah, sure. Civil. Christ—“ He finished his drink, and looked round for another, obnoxiously clicking his fingers for a waiter. 

Brienne took a step back. “You’re drunk.”

“Well observed, wench. It makes things better. If you ever loosened up, you’d enjoy it too— if you weren’t so attached to such an unrealistic notion of …” his mutterings faded as a glass reappeared in his hand, and he rocked back on his heels.

Her gaze wavered in dismay. “Jaime— why are you doing this to yourself?”

He stared back. “Why? You’re asking me why? The love of my life who pushed me out is asking me why?”

Her cheeks suddenly burned. “It was your fault—“

Taking a step towards her, he dropped his voice. “It was a fucking mistake, Brienne. You know that.”

“Didn’t ,  _doesn't,_ feel like one,” she responded hotly. All she could see in his face was anger, how it stripped away all that she knew was good in him to leave an unfeeling shadow, an emptiness that brought tears to her eyes. 

Before he could speak again, Jaime suddenly staggered backwards as Tyrion stepped in between them and pushed Jaime away. “For fuck’s sake, Jaime, what the hell are you doing—“ hissed Tyrion. “You’re a fucking liability.”

Tyrion turned back to Brienne. “Brienne, my dear. So nice to see you again.”

“Again?” echoed Jaime behind him, hurt.

“Yes, some of us haven’t burnt all our bridges with the few people prepared to deal with Lannisters on a non-financial basis,” Tyrion said, rolling his eyes. He took a deep breath and continued. “I can’t ignore him ,  but you should, Brienne. He’s been on the drink for days. I shouldn’t have brought him. Please accept my apologies.”

Brienne tried to blink away the sobs that threatened. She bent down a little. “You don’t need to apologise, it’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, everything’s my fucking fault,” seethed Jaime.

Brienne tried to focus on Tyrion. “I hope you’re well?”   


“Yes, fine. Busy with… things.”

“I’m sure. The book looks amazing by the way. It’s next on my list to read.”

“That’s kind of you.” 

Jaime sighed dramatically. Tyrion’s face turned thunderous for a second. “I’m sorry, Brienne – I should…” 

“Yes, of course. Sorry.”

She looked up to see Jaime draining his glass, and before he was dragged away by Tyrion he gave her such a loaded look it took her breath away. It raged against himself, against her, against everything. It spoke of the loss they’d felt and shared. It expressed his disbelief at where they had ended up, of what had happened to them, of how awful it had been. It hurt her  terribly  to have it thrust upon her, to realise how terribly familiar it all felt , and that she, they had no way out of it.

As Tyrion walked away, she touched him on the shoulder and bent down again. “Please let me know if I can help. You know I would… Anything. Anytime. Really.”

Tyrion gave her a rueful smile. “Yes, I know. Thanks. Take care of yourself.”

She watched as the pair weaved their way through the room and out of the door, counted a full long minute and followed them out, found the loos and c ried  large ugly tears.  

 

**A C T   T H R E E**  


Everything hurt. The caustic air was hard to breathe, the noise of the machines intolerable. She tried to move her fingers, but the message seemed to get lost in the din. Her jaw ached terribly, like the worst toothache in the world. She could sense the bright lights behind her eyelids, the bright reds swirling around and making her feel sick. She must have groaned because she sensed something shift beside her, something warm on her skin. But the darkness she had been in was far preferable to this hell. She stopped struggling and retreated.

As painkillers swept through her blood stream, she succumbed to dreams of an intensity and sheer madness she’d never had before. Houses she couldn’t find her way out of, intricate adventures where she found she could fly haphazardly, or visions of blood from unknown cuts on her skin. And Jaime. She dreamt of Jaime most of all. Smiling, shouting, full of pain, full of lust. He crept into every nook and cranny of her mind, rejecting all her efforts to make him do as she asked. It was this pleading that brought her out of the darkness the second time, mumbling and frantic with drug addled limbs that twitched and shivered.

A nurse, this time, with an efficient hand on her shoulder, looking down at her. She must have seen the question in Brienne’s eyes. “You’re in hospital, love. Do you remember? You’ve just come out of surgery so you won’t be feeling your best—“

S _urgery? For what?_

She tried to speak, but tubes nauseously down her throat prevented anything more than grunts.

“You’re all right, love. Just bear with me while we get the doctor to come and have a look at you—“

She went from Brienne’s line of sight. 

_Oh gods. What the hell has happened to me?_ She could feel panic-stricken tears appear, and she lifted her hand to wipe them. As she did so, she realised her face was immobilised in bandages. She wanted to laugh all of a sudden. Ugly turned uglier.  What did it matter anyway? All her life she had people stare at her for one reason or another. She tried to think of the positives. She could see and hear and from wriggling her toes and fingers, she didn’t seem to be paralysed. It could always be worse. Her life had been one long series of “well, it could be worse—“ mutterings from well meaning, and not so well meaning people. Jaime had been a bright, spiky exception to that rule. He had been the best thing, immoderate, atypical. She had been the lucky one. Now—

The doctor walked in. A pace behind was a man. In her foggy mind, it looked like Jaime. But that couldn’t be right. She blinked as they came closer, but the image didn’t waver or disappear. It was him. 

“Well, now Brienne. Good to see you awake. Let me get you more comfortable—“  The doctor set about removing the tubes and adjusting the various drips. Jaime stared at her all the time, and she couldn’t help but stare back.

“There. All done.” 

Brienne swallowed painfully. “What happened to me?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. 

“There was an incident, an accident. You sustained an injury to your cheek. Quite seriously, I’m afraid. That’s why we whipped you into surgery. The plastic surgery consultant will be around in a bit to discuss further measures, but we’ve stitched you up as best we could for now—“

Brienne’s mind was a complete blank as she tried to think back. “But I don’t—how did it happen—“

The doctor glanced at Jaime. “A mugging the police think. Luckily, someone rang the emergency services quite soon after. Mr Lannister here was your emergency contact.”

_Oh yes. I forgot. There had been no-one else._

The doctor turned to Jaime. “10 minutes only now she’s awake. Then you both need to rest.” 

She left with the door swinging on its hinges. 

Jaime sat heavily on the bed, his hand automatically going to hers before she moved it away with a flinch. He looked serious and exhausted and a sight for sore eyes all at the same time. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Awful.”

“You look better than you did but yeah, you got battered, wench. Ribs broken too. And bruises. Put up a good fight though, old girl.”

She grimaced. “Why are you here?”

He gave her a curious, cautious look. “Like the doctor said. I couldn’t leave you here by yourself. Wasn’t that what you said when I was in a hospital bed?”

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded after a moment. 

“Although I’m sure you’ll cope much better than I did in the aftermath.”

“Couldn’t do much worse.”

He looked shocked for a moment but then grinned. “Touché, wench.” He shrugged. “Ups and downs. Although six months sober now. So. Maybe I’m on an up.”

_Six months? I didn’t know. He looks better. Good. Good for him._

Her eyes flickered as sleep threatened again. Jaime caught it, and after a fraction of hesitation, took a step closer and gently kissed her forehead. “See you tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to come.”

"You don’t want me to?” he asked, the lightness in his voice insincere.

Her mouth opened and closed. Too difficult a question to think about in her cotton wool brain. Closing her eyes, she shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

The light was different when she awoke the next time. Sunrise crept with a chill through the blinds, sending a feeble mid-winter glow towards her. Her head ached dully, but the anaesthetic had finally evaporated from her blood, leaving only a sleepy hangover in its wake. She pulled herself into a sitting position with a groan and took in her surroundings. Hers was the only bed in the room. It had the soft furnishings that wouldn’t look out of place in a mid-range hotel. Noises were muffled apart from the gentle beating of her heart monitor. This wasn’t an NHS hospital room, she realised. Someone had paid for her to go private. _Jaime._ A thud of unexpected anger settled in her stomach. _How dare he presume?_ Her mind remonstrated with her. _Oh please, like you don’t appreciate it? This peace and quiet is blissful, you’d be driven insane on an open ward. This is him being nice. Accept it, you stubborn—_ She breathed a sigh of relief as a nurse bustled into her room with breakfast, her thoughts thankfully interrupted.

She was dozing when Jaime walked in, stripping off his coat and scarf, and sitting on the chair to her side. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and the hand he briefly touched on hers was icy. 

“You need to wear some gloves,” she murmured, still lying on her side. 

He laughed. “Yeah, sorry. Maybe I should set up a collection for single gloves. Niche market, I imagine.”

Her forehead creased.  _He was joking about his hand?_

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Alright. Painkillers, you know.”   


“Yes, I do. Lovely stuff. When are you seeing the plastic surgeon?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” He frowned. “I should find the doctor, find out what’s going on. Get you the best surgeon, of course.”   


This was all going too quickly for her. She brushed the hair out of her eyes, and sat up again. Jaime jumped to his feet to help but she waved him away. “Can we just slow down?”

He stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I mean, you. This. I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand? I paid for an upgrade, so shoot me. I want to know what’s going on with your treatment.”

“But why? You don’t owe me anything… we’re not—“ She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. 

Jaime scoffed quietly. He looked as if he was trying to swallow his words, but then his chin went up. “I can’t agree with that.”   


“And if the hospital hadn’t rung you, then what? This feels like your guilt playing out.”

He looked ashamed. “Yeah, it is. I’m not going to lie about it. I need to make things right. This seems the least I could do.”

She rubbed a hand across her face, wincing as it brushed the bandage. “Don’t pity me, Jaime. I couldn’t bear it.”

Jaime let out a sound of frustration. “Fuck's sake, wench. I've never pitied you. I'm not going to start now. So your cheek will have a scar? I couldn't give a toss, as long as you can still glare at me with those baby blues. Whatever I can do to help, I'll do it. Not out of charity but because I know you better than you remember. This helps you, and that, as far as I'm concerned, is that. ”

“Does it help me?” she queried quietly.

“I note no-one else has turned up here,” he said archly. 

"I don’t need anybody.”

H e scoffed again, standing as he did so and pacing the floor in front of her bed. “Sounds altogether too familiar, if I may be so bold.”

"I'm not like you."

He pulled a face. "There's no-one like me, thank the gods. Look, when I got that call, my heart dropped into my stomach. I had a vision of you — I couldn't bear not being here. I know we haven't spoken in months, and you can honestly tell me to fuck off, but I just wanted to see you. I miss you."

She gazed at him. She'd missed him with every ounce of spirit she had possessed, despite everything. But this wasn't a romantic film, and forgiveness was tricksy and difficult and had a mind of it's own.

"I didn't deserve your anger." 

They both knew she was speaking of the book launch; the hissed slanging match with so much left unspoken she couldn't catch her breath for weeks afterwards.

"No. No. I'm sorry." 

"That's the first time you've actually apologised during this whole...thing." 

Jaime's eyes widened for a second. "Christ, really? I didn't even realise. I don't know what I was thinking..." He looked grey. "I felt I was owed your forgiveness, I think. After all, I had explained and asked for it, right? Fucking sense of Lannister entitlement once again." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "I am sorry. For everything. Everything I put you through."

Something felt purged within her. "Jaime, I'm not the same person you walked out on. I had to grow up."  _More suspicious, less innocent. More anxious, less caring._

"We all had to grow up. I needed to. Fifteen years late, but better than never. You did the right thing, not taking me back, you know. I needed that lesson." 

"It was a painful one to give." 

"Yeah. Fucking awful, right?" 

She had to bite her lip. All her nerves seemed exposed, fragile in his presence. At a precipice. "I'm tired, Jaime—" 

He smiled softly. "Of course. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" 

"Yes, alright."  _Gods, it was good to be on sure footing again._  


End file.
